Chapter 6 - The Gathering of Wolves
The basement of the St. Jude Community Center was neutral ground—a place where the five Capos of the Santangelo crime family met to settle disputes without blood on the pavement. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the heavy, anxious breathing of men who lived by the gun.
Paulie Varga sat at the head of the long oak table, surrounded by his loyal lieutenants. The other four Capos sat along the sides, murmuring nervously among themselves.
"He's losing his mind," Paulie declared, slapping his broad hand onto the table. "He brings an outsider into the house! A girl from the gutters! A kid who could belong to any street junkie in the 4th Ward! And he's talking about making the brat the sole heir to the syndicate's trust!"
"He's Anthony's boy, Paulie," countered Old Man Sal, a veteran Capo who had served Vincent's father. "Frankie says the kid is the spitting image of him."
"Looks don't mean a damn thing!" Paulie barked. "We need leadership NOW, not twenty years from now! The Maroni family is encroaching on our docks! The federal prosecutors are building an indictment! And Vincent is at home playing peek-a-boo with a toddler! He’s weak! He’s soft!"
BANG.
The heavy double doors of the basement were kicked open, slamming against the concrete walls with the force of a thunderclap.
The room went dead silent.
Vincent Santangelo walked into the room. He wore a crisp tailored charcoal suit, his black cashmere coat draped over his shoulders. Frankie walked half a step behind him, his hand resting casually inside his jacket.
Vincent didn't say a word. He walked slowly down the length of the table, his heavy leather shoes echoing off the concrete floor. The Capos instinctively pushed their chairs back, bowing their heads in respect—or fear.
Vincent stopped directly behind Paulie's chair. He placed his large, heavy hands on Paulie’s shoulders, squeezing with a grip that made the younger man go rigid with terror.
"Say it to my face, Paulie," Vincent whispered into Paulie's ear, his voice dripping with venomous calm. "Tell me how soft I've become."
Paulie swallowed hard, sweat immediately breaking out on his forehead. "Vincent... I was just... we were just discussing the security of the family—"
"You were discussing my blood," Vincent interrupted, releasing his grip and walking to the head of the table. He pulled out the legal DNA document and slammed it onto the oak wood. "Read it."
Old Man Sal reached out, pulled the paper toward him, and read the lab results aloud to the room. When he finished, he looked up at the other Capos. "It's legit. Certified by Dr. Mercer's lab. The boy is Anthony’s son. He’s a Santangelo."
Vincent leaned both hands on the table, glaring at every man in the room. "Let me make this unmistakably clear to every single one of you. Thomas Santangelo is my grandson. He is my blood, my heart, and my sole heir. Anyone who speaks against him, speaks against me. Anyone who looks at him the wrong way, answers to me."
He fixed his gaze on Paulie, whose eyes were darting toward the exit. "And if anyone in this room tries to play games with his mother or his legitimacy... I won't just kill you. I will erase your name from the history of this city."
Vincent turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Just before stepping out, he paused and looked back over his shoulder.
"Paulie. You're relieved of your duties in the 4th Ward. Sal takes over the docks starting tomorrow."
May you like
Paulie’s face turned bright red with rage, but he kept his mouth shut until the heavy doors swung closed behind Vincent.
Once the Don was gone, Paulie looked at his loyal lieutenant, his eyes burning with a psychotic hatred. "Get the men together," Paulie hissed under his breath. "If the old man wants a war for his grandson... we'll give him one he won't survive."
